This Farcical Embrace
by swabloo
Summary: House and Methos didn’t have much in this harsh world, but they had each other, and that was enough. House/Highlander crossover. post-horsemen arc, light and humerous in areas but with dark and gritty cracks. Contains more than just a hint of SLASH.


**A/N: **Just playing around with a crossover idea. I quite like it, actually. Only rated M because it deals with adult situations like murder and sex, although it's nothing explicit. Tell me what you think, yeah?

**Disclaimer: **Neither Highlander nor House are mine. Boo.

**This Farcical Embrace**

It wasn't love or lust; the only passion in their farcical embrace was that of anger and self-loathing, hot and heady and mindlessly numbing. It wasn't lovemaking, but _fucking _in its cruellest form, a violently twisting myriad of pleasure and pain. Together they wept, for lost brothers, loves and lives and the never-ending hardships. Warm tears slicked their bodies moist and mingled with sweat and blood. With shudders that wracked their frames, they finished and lay together boneless and limp, bodies and hearts raw and weak, emotionally tired of it all.

They slipped into a dreamless sleep, healing their un-seen wounds enough to live with, and the damage to their bodies gone by the time morning came. House and Methos didn't have much in this harsh world, but they had each other, and that was enough.

oOoOoOo

Earlier that day had been dreary, with grey skies and a light drizzle of rain that never seemed to cease. It echoed House's dull mood as he scowled at another nurse, limping across the main entrance and into the lift. Each thud of his cane against the floor echoed in rhythm with the pounding in his head, and he soon popped a pill to the beat, hoping to ease the pain at least a little bit. Unfortunately, an even bigger headache seemed to be approaching him.

"Ugh," he grimaced, "You young people. You should learn to respect your elders. We need just as much love as your hormone-addled little friends." He gave a meaningful look to the three people in the room as he walked in, gazing mournfully at each of their morning coffees.

"Oh! Sorry, House. I didn't think you'd be in until later; would you like me to get you one?" She gave a nurturing smile and tipped her plastic cup in acknowledgment.

That was Cameron for you, always trying to care for him in the little ways. Not that he was above taking advantage; carefully, he 'absentmindedly' rubbed his thigh, a carefully placed wince on his face. "Nah, don't want your girl cooties. Goodness knows that I get enough from Chase." He sighed, and slowly lowered himself into his chair. "Couldn't sleep, so I figured I might as well do something."

And – ah! There it was. She frowned, worry hinting in the turn of her mouth. "It's no problem," she said, falling right into his trap, "It's on me." She got up then, quickly leaving the room with a small, understanding smile.

A moment later, he turned to Chase with a smirk. "What about you, Blondie? How about a backrub for the old man?"

It was Chase's turn to grimace, physically leaning back. "No thanks," he muttered, Australian accent thick, "My cooties have had enough of you."

"Well, who say's _I've_ had enough?" House leaned forward, waggling his eyebrows.

Foreman cut in, "Sorry House, as much as I'd hate to see you play out your fantasy, we don't have the time for it this morning. Cuddy wants us downstairs and dealing with everyone that's bound to come in today."

House scowled, leaning back in his chair again. "A little rain and cold and suddenly _everyone _thinks they've got swine flu. People are bad enough without pandemics to deal with. Each is an idiot with a cause."

"While it's such a shame that we can't all share the same optimistic view of society as you do," Foreman continued, "Cuddy really will kill you this time if you hide out with coma guy or the dead people. You've skipped out for the past few weeks, and I'm pretty sure she's ready to bite your head off."

"Unless she gets a sword, she won't get near my neck," promised House with a strange smile. "Ooh, look who's being messenger boy. She got you whipped? Why don't you go all 'gang nigga' on her? Put a cap in her ass, yo. Bitch won't be ordering you around then."

House caught a flicker of movement just outside of the room and dutifully hunched his back slightly, drawing his eyebrows together in a pained wince just as Cameron walked back in, coffee in hand.

"Here," she placed it in front of him, eying his slightly bent form with more worry. "It's hot."

House hid a grin as he gripped it towards him, silently pleased with himself. Look at that – she'd bought him the expensive one! She _totally_ fancied him, or at least hopeless cases.

"Speaking of cases," he started, ignoring the fact that they hadn't been speaking of anything at all as he'd sipped his delicious morning dose of caffeine, "I don't suppose one miraculously waved itself under your nose while you were gone?"

Cameron shook her head, already knowing what he wanted to avoid. "Sorry House, none of us are getting out of it this time." She grinned, "Although, I did see Cuddy. She ordered us three to make sure you went down and didn't try to escape."

As they left the room, they heard House mutter under his breath, "Oh, this is _so_ how I planned to waste my day."

"House!" Came a sharp call, and he turned to see Cuddy, all legs and breasts and damn, fine curves.

"How's my little sex kitten?" He grinned, in what he hoped oozed boyish charm, "You know, you don't have to keep calling my name in such a breathy, post-orgasmic way. I'll always listen, baby."

She rolled her eyes, used to his antics, and decided to cut in before he continued on the same thought. "You're just in time. Someone's come in, asking specifically for you. He's waiting in the exam room."

"What am I? Some trained dog to be unleashed upon command?"

"Yes. And you give a lot of credit to this hospital, so it's your own damn fault that your reputation proceeds you." 'You're _my _bitch' went unsaid, although the tone certainly hinted at it.

House gave a smug grin. "It does, doesn't it?" He switched back to a scowl, "Who's the punk, anyway?"

"Adam Pierson. He says he knows you."

"Never heard of him," he scoffed. "Or I don't remember him._ So_ not worth the waste of my time."

"It's time you're paid to waste," Cuddy pressed, "So go on. Get to it."

"Fine, fine," He muttered. The moment he opened the exam room door, he suddenly went rigid, every muscle tense.

His team exchanged glances as their boss' suddenly stressed voice reached them from the entrance of the room.

"What are you doing here?" Came the rough, gravely tone.

"It's… Good, to see you, House," A smooth voice was heard, although it hitched slightly and didn't sound quite right. The patient began to say something else, but the sound was cut off as House quickly stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

"I guess he did know him," Cuddy remarked, gazing at the door thoughtfully for a few moments, before deciding that her best doctor hadn't sounded like he'd been in trouble, and so left to get back to work. Besides, he could look after himself.

Foreman, Chase and Cameron, were not so quick to leave, silently promising to check in on their boss later, because they hadn't heard him sound so pained before. But they did leave, and without a backwards glance.

oOoOoOo

"Sorry if I've come at a bad time," Adam said as House closed the door. They stared at each other silently for a few moments, before House relaxed.

"As sappy as it sounds, you know I've always got time for you, Methos."

The ancient immortal smiled sadly, although it quickly turned inward and bitter. "I'm not worth your time anymore, House. I've done something terrible. I…" He drifted, fists clenched and knuckles white.

House approached him, hand clasping the other's shoulder. "What happened? What did you do?"

Methos continued to stare blankly. "I killed them, House. I killed them all." In a frantic sort of way, he looked up at the other man and stared back with wide eyes. "They were my _brothers_. And I killed them!" He shook, his whole body trembling, and didn't stop.

House felt something inside of him break, and enveloped Methos with his arms. "Why did you kill them?" It came out as a hoarse whisper, barely there at all.

"They wanted to kill everyone, House. Go back to the glory days. I couldn't do it. Not again. Not now."

"I thought we'd agreed to leave and let live?"

Methos' face turned dark as he stopped shaking. "They lost it, House. I'm glad you didn't see it. Kronos – the years weren't kind to him. He was broken, but he was driven. And… He was Kronos. But he started to make stupid mistakes. I could them forming, but he was slowly loosing himself, and he'd already dragged the others down with him. His mind, like all of ours, was just as broken as before. But the pieces didn't fit together."

"Like you said, we're broken too, Methos. Do we deserve to die?"

The man in his arms chuckled without mirth. "That's a bad argument. I know I, at least, should have probably died ages ago."

House sat down on the bed beside him, one arm still slung around Methos' shoulders. He sighed. "You know, if anyone had to kill them, I'm glad it was you. I'd have liked to relive the glory days, but you're right. Not now. Not in the way the world has changed. The way we've changed."

Methos gave him a narrowed, sideways look. "I miss them. I'm glad you're still here."

"I miss them too," House replied. "I haven't seen them since the band broke up. And, like the petty groupie I am, I high-tailed it out of there."

"Groupie?" Methos rolled his eyes. "Hades was more than just a 'groupie'."

"I'm known as the one that followed you around and picked the trash up after you."

"Being thought of as the god of the underworld, collecting the souls we slaughtered is hardly 'picking up our trash'."

House leaned in, looking into Methos' eyes with a quirk to his lips. "I'll still follow _you _around, though. You're a survivor, and you always will be. I understand, and I don't care; you're the one that killed them, but Death will always be a part of my life."

Forcefully, his fingers grabbed the other man's short-cropped hair and held them together in a searing kiss, and he lost himself in the tongue that slid against his own. Methos gripped him back, and House knew that the Old Man's shaky control was slipping. This was what Methos needed; someone who knew him, had always known him, knew what he'd done and still didn't care.

"C'mon," House muttered, slightly breathless, as they finally, reluctantly parted. "We're going back to my place."

"You're too good to me," came the murmured reply, slightly wistfully and filled with a strange humour. The broken ache inside of them soothed slightly through their clasped hands, as together they snuck out of the building. Because House and Methos didn't have much in this harsh world, but they had each other, and that was enough.


End file.
